Thirteenth, Exercise Caution When Getting Up in the Middle of the Night

“Can’t sleep?”

I almost jump out of my skin, and I don’t startle easily. The slender, dark-haired

girl, Fred, stands in front of me with a huge stack of books in her skinny arms. Glasses perch on the edge of her nose.

“I, uh, . . . no,” I admit. Gah. Real smooth, Buffy.

“What are you lookin’ for? Is there somethin’ I can help you find?” Her Texas accent is cute and perky. Not what I’d expect for someone who lived in a hell dimension for five years and not what I’d expect so late at night.

I try to shake off the remnants of the nightmare I just had and glance up and down the dimly lit hallway, trying to steady my thoughts. “No. Well, the bathroom.”

Fred smiles and nods in the opposite direction from where I’d been going. “It’s that-a-way.”

I return her courteous expression. “Thanks. What are you doing up so late?”

She blushes. “Well, Anya, she wanted me to do some research for her. She’s been workin’ hard on this project, see, and we got to talkin’ about it. And,” she shrugs, “I can’t sleep once I start thinkin’ about somethin’, so I thought I’d go downstairs to do some readin’.” She leans toward me as if she wants to tell me a secret. “I have trouble sleepin’ sometimes.”

I totally understand the feeling. “Me, too.”

She nods, and I think she knows more about my situation than I realized. Either Angel shared a little, or this slender woman is perceptive. “They say it isn’t good to do anything but sleep in your bed and well, have sex, but I haven’t been having any of that lately. Not for years really.” She keeps going as if embarrassed by her slip, “And, hey. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay.” Her room must be nearby. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t even notice her in the hall. Not a good sign for a Slayer. Then, it dawns on me what she’s said just a few seconds earlier. “Project for Anya?”

“Yeah. Didn’t she tell you about it?” Fred seems genuinely confused as if I should know everything about Anya because we work together.

“No, she didn’t. Is it for the wedding?” My thoughts flash to the last two times I’ve seen Anya. She’s had her nose buried in some dusty old book. I make a mental note to ask her about it. . . but not tonight, of course.

Fred frowns a little. “No. But she did show me her weddin’ scrapbook earlier!”

I laugh in spite of myself. “I’ve seen it. Can you believe the wedding hasn’t even happened yet and she already has a scrapbook going?”

Fred giggles and sighs. “Nope. Although, it was nice to look at. Gave me some ideas for my own someday.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“Not lately.” She hesitates as if she isn’t sure whether to ask a question. Then, she comes out with, “It isn’t too awkward, is it? I mean, seein’ Angel again what with the baby and all?”

I can’t help but be honest with her. “Yeah. It’s a little awkward.” How to explain my bond with Angel without making her think I can’t let go? “But Angel and I have an understanding.”

She waits for me to explain.

So, I do, even if my words are inadequate, “We each live our own lives, but our connection. . . it’s something. . . it’ll always be there.”

She stares at me as if she thinks I’m leaving something out. I wonder what. Before I can ask her, one of the books on the top of her stack tumbles to the ground.

“Need some help?” I offer, bending down to pick up the book for her.

“Nah. I got them.” She starts to head toward to stairs, and I decide to take a chance.

“Fred?”

“Yeah?” She glances back over her shoulder at me.

“Where is everyone staying?” I can’t believe I just asked her that.

“What do you mean?”

I fidget a bit. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to walk in on anyone’s room on accident.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes like she’s mentally kicking herself. “Oh, I guess I didn’t explain very well about the bathroom. Last door on the right. That way. And everyone’s on this floor except Angel. He has his own room on another floor. And well, Cordy, Charles, and Wes don’t live here.”

“Thanks.” Well, that rules out one door.

“You’re welcome. See you in the mornin’.”

xxxxx

After careful consideration, I decide that Spike’s in the room with the unlocked door.

That would make sense, right?

Right.

I nod but only to myself. Gotta convince myself that following my instincts to seek Spike are somehow a good thing.

Uh huh.

I step into the darkness, leaving the door slightly cracked. All the easier to flee if I need to. The shadows enfold me in their willing embrace, but enough light remains for my eyes to detect the outline of the bed along the back wall of the small hotel room. My toes sink into the thick carpet, and I keep my focus on my destination.

I have to talk with him. . . especially after. . .

He groans quietly and turns in his sleep, rustling the sheets.

I frown uncertainly but chalk my hesitancy up to my concerns about being caught. . . caught with Spike. . . caught by Angel with Spike. Okay, that makes no sense grammatically. I make it to the bed without falling over or tripping over anything. Guess I’m pretty good a maneuvering in the dark without being able to see. Slayer intuition. . . good for walking through the graveyard. . . or if there’s a power outage in the house.

I settle onto the cushioned surface and before I can lose my nerve, I start, “I-I had a nightmare. . . and I-I needed to talk. . . to explain. . . .” I really just want to be held and reassured that he isn’t completely fed up with me.

Reaching out to touch him, my fingers encounter only the comforter. He is farther away than I realized. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

He’s going to make things hard on me. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised after my behavior the last few days. . . well, the last several weeks. Maybe I could apologize? Hmm. . . I’m not good at saying I’m sorry. . . never have been. I can always try. . .

“I-I’m. . .” I swallow, “sorry about my behavior earlier tonight.”

Still nothing.

This silence is getting eerie. Spike generally has something to say about everything. Anger stomps its way into my stomach. . . as well as a little bit of fear.

His non-responsiveness makes me babble. Babbling Buffy is not a good thing.

“Well, I think the reason I got so weird. . . is seeing Angel. . . Angel with a baby. . . Angel with a baby whose mother is Darla. I mean, I just saw him what. . . not very long ago, and he didn’t tell me anything about a baby. . . or sex with Darla. Not that it’s any of my business who Angel sleeps with, but you know, old boyfriend and all. . . it’s kind of. . . ” I pause and take a deep breath. This is not the direction to take to make Spike feel less angry or hurt with me. Old boyfriends are something to talk about with the girlfriends. . . but not Spike. “Everything’s changing so fast. I-it’s hard for me to process it all, I think. And then. . . there’s you. . . us. I don’t understand it at all. You’re supposed to be evil, a-and you’re the only one who’s really been there for me since I came back. . . you’re the only one I can talk to. . . . And I wonder, is it wrong to trust you?”

The bed sheets rustle, and a voice rises from the darkness. . . a voice that is definitely not Spike’s, “Well, sugarplum, unless we’ve had a rendezvous that I was too intoxicated to remember, I don’t believe I’ve ever met you before tonight. . . unless you’ve spoken with my mother, I don’t believe there’s anyone, I don’t believe there’s anyone. . . in this dimension or in Pylea who would call me ‘evil.’”

Pushing away from the bed, I flick on the bedside lamp and stare at the demon on the bed, eyes blinking away the blinding light to show my shock. My mind races back over what I’ve just revealed to the green demon, and for some reason, I can’t recall a word of it. Just great.

Lorne cocks his head to one side and waves a green hand in front of my face. “Buffy? You okay, girl?” He glances down at himself and pulls the navy blue bed covers up over his bare green chest as if the sight of his oddly-colored flesh would shock a Slayer. “Sorry bout that. Must have been a shock. . . on more than one level.”

I shake my head. “No.” I want to run out of the room, but somehow my feet have become glued to the carpet. I have to remember to tell Cordelia that the doors in this hotel need better labeling. . . signs that read, “Bathroom and Lorne’s room” to be specific.

We stare at each other for a minute.

Then, we start together, “Look, I didn’t mean. . .” “I’m sorry for. . .”

Laughter is exchanged, and I find myself warming to the green-skinned guy. . . what is it with me liking demons these days? Clem. . . Lorne. . .

That’s it. Spike’s corrupted me.

How will I ever slay again?

“You go first,” Lorne insists.

“What you heard. . .”

“I won’t tell a soul.” He draws a little “x” across his chest. “Cross my. . . well, that’s not where my heart is, but you know what I mean.”

“Especially not Angel.”

“No, no. Of course not. Call me your friendly neighborhood bar slash club owner slash karaoke singer. I hear lots of stories. . . direct from the heart. And unless someone’s in danger, I have a strict confidentiality policy.”

My thoughts are jumbled with regard to Cordelia’s introductions tonight. She said something about Lorne. . . “You read people’s songs!”

He chuckles at my outburst. “You’re right, chickadee.”

My eyes narrow. “How does that work?”

He shrugs. “I hear snippets of melody, and the truth. . . good or bad just comes to me. Not sure myself how it works.”

“So someone sings for you, and you what? Give them a reading about their future?”

“Kind of. It’s a little more complicated than that. Depends on the person. . . depends on the nature of their future. Sometimes a person only has to hum a few notes, and I know. . . their future is laid out like a clear path through a forest with a sunbeam lighting the way. Other times, they can sing a whole song, and I only get vague impressions. Haven’t really figured it all out yet. Guess that’s what I have a lifetime for.”

Oh shit. “And when I was humming to the baby tonight. . . ?”

He surveys me for several seconds. “Do you want to know?”

I swallow. Do I? “Yes.”

Something shifts in his expression as if he’s donning his professional hat. . . even half-naked in bed. Then, he opens his mouth and utters something I never thought he’d be able to come up with, “You’ve been through hell lately. . . literally. You were taken out of heaven by your gang of friends, and now here. . . this dimension. . . is like hell for you.”

My heart is in my throat, and tears are in my eyes. I lean forward to balance myself on the side of the mattress. “H-how did you know?” Hot liquid spills over my lower lashes. “Did Angel tell you?”

“Angel? He knows?”

“Don’t play games with me,” I half-growl. Don’t care if I’m a guest here. I can’t fathom another betrayal from Angel. I close my eyes. I hadn’t really thought of the appearance of Connor as a “betrayal” until this moment. Guess the whole baby thing made me more angry and jealous than I wanted to believe. . . more than what I revealed to Fred and Dawn anyway

Rattled—yes; jealous—no.

Yeah right.

A hand touches my lower back. “Hun? I didn’t know a whit of that until you filled my ears with a bit of melody.”

Somehow, I’m comforted, and a smile toys with the corners of my mouth. “Sorry that you’re getting an earful. From now on, I’ll watch the song thing.”

“Don’t lose hope. Keep going. You’ll make it through all the. . . re-experiencing if you don’t give up. That’s the only advice I’ll give you. You got a bit of an independent streak, and I don’t want to tangle with that.”

Laughter pushes past my smile. Then, I remember something. I shift to the left to look at Lorne over my shoulder. “I heard Spike singing to Connor under his breath when he thought no one was looking.”

Spike had snuck away from the back of our little group when we were all listening to Wesley go on about the plan to get to Faith before the Council did. He’d peered over the edge of the baby’s crib, uncrossed one of his arms, and touched the child with an almost reverent tenderness, singing almost imperceptibly. I’d glanced at Angel in alarm and caught my ex staring at my. . . whatever Spike is to me. Angel’s face was unreadable, but he didn’t stop his grandchilde. . . just watched him like a hawk.

Lorne answers my question before I ask it, “I heard.”

“Well?” I ask, almost too eagerly.

“I’m sorry, little one, but I don’t believe that I can reveal his personal reading to you.”

Disappointment washes over me. “Why not?”

“I know it’s my own rule, but I don’t reveal anyone’s destiny unless someone’s in danger.”

I take several seconds to digest what he’s telling me. “So. . .”

The green demon nods once as if to say, that’s all you’re going to get. Then, he adds, “You’re not in any danger from the bleached wonder. No one is in danger of being harmed by him. . . except maybe his own heart.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I mean, princess.”

I lower my head and study my fingers splayed against the comforter.

Then, I stand and meet Lorne’s gaze. “Thank you. And sorry to have disturbed you.” Funny how easily an apology rolls off my tongue to this particular demon.

The doorknob is cool when I touch the metal, and it takes my travel time from the bed to the doorway for Lorne to call after me.

“Buffy?”

I turn around expectantly.

And I’m not let down by his next words, “Love is not restricted to humanity, you know. . . or those with souls.”

I’m uncertain how to respond to that, so I just wait.

“He loves you.”

I’m too afraid to question Lorne about the meaning of his words. Hell, I even scare myself when two more words pass over my lips, “I know.”

The knob turns, and I cross the threshold.

“And Buffy?”

“Hmm?”

“He’s down the hall. Third suite on the left.”

As soon as Spike opens the door, I launch myself into his arms. He gives me a little grunt to know that he’s surprised and probably still half-asleep.

He reaches behind his neck, pulls on my wrists and gently pushes me back. “What’s this?”

“N-nothing.”

“Buffy.”

I’m so glad he called me by my name that I start the speech I practiced on the short walk from Lorne’s door to his, “Here’s the deal.”

He watches me with a bemused expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about earlier. Had another ‘bloody’ nightmare. And I need a place to hang my hat for the night. Got room in your bed?”

A kaleidoscope of emotions play across his features, and then, his fingers fold over mine. “You know that I always have room for you, pet.”

I close my eyes in relief as he sweeps me into his small sanctuary away from the rest of what is distinctly Angel’s territory.

And for the moment, I’m safe.

I’ll ask questions tomorrow.

TBC. . .

Setting Up House

Fourteenth, Infuse Each Day with a Positive Attitude

I kiss Spike’s knuckles as I extricate myself from his embrace.

Okay, so his hold on me is kind of tight, and I’m too restless to stay in bed any longer. I feel guilty for leaving him before he wakes up, but I don’t want to roll around and wake him. I wouldn’t have cared before, but Lorne’s big reveal makes me more conscious of how I treat Spike. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.

Taking care not to bounce, I push myself to the edge of the king-sized mattress,

and just when I think I’m free. . .

“Where you going so fast?” His hand grips my wrist like a vice.

Resisting the urge to jerk away, I glance back at him. A sliver of moonlight from the misaligned curtain illuminates half his face, accentuating his cheekbones. The borrowed light also hints at the outline of his bare chest. He looks so vulnerable. I’m grateful that I can’t see his eyes. . . can’t view how deep that vulnerability runs.

Then, I might have to admit to how vulnerable I feel around him.

“Downstairs. I’m just going downstairs,” I whisper.

“What time is it?” He twists his head, searching for the clock.

My view is easier. “Six-thirty.”

“Early riser, eh, pet?” He lets go of my arm, but I can still feel where his cool fingers pressed into my flesh.

“Yeah.”

“Any more nightmares?”

I want to tell him that he held me too close for me to have any. I was safe. But instead, I say, “No. No more nightmares.”

“Good.” He sounds satisfied as if he’s accomplished something.

I fumble for my slippers, legs angling back onto the bed. Finding my targets, I slip them over my feet. Reluctant to switch on the lamp to avoid the blinding light. . . or Spike, I tidy my hair with my fingers and hope I’ll look presentable enough for parading in front of a bunch of strangers in my pajamas.

Well, they’re not strangers exactly, but everything feels foreign to me these days.

“Why don’t you come back to bed for a few?” he asks, trying to act nonchalant. He’s testing me.

“I want to,” I admit before I can stop my tongue.

“But. . . ?” His finger traces over my spine, sending goose bumps flying over my arms.

“Not right now, Spike,” I protest, my voice coming out more annoyed than I planned.

Without warning, his arm circles my waist and pulls me flush against his pelvis, his desire evident against my tailbone. My eyes slip closed, and a moan escapes from my lips as his hand explores and teases my body. His chest presses solidly against mine as he sits up, and his mouth finds my collarbone, spreading soft kisses up my neck to my earlobe.

He nips my ear and whispers, “C’mon, love. You know how much I want you, and if you admit it, you want me.” His hand plunges downward, sending shockwaves through my body. “I can feel it.”

“Don’t touch me!” bursts out of me. At my reaction, his arms loosen and allow me to hurtle forward. Shaking a little at my own eruption, I face him, taking in the mirrored shock on his face. Guess I’m not quite ready to accept Lorne’s words as truth.

“R-right,” he manages, revealing how shaken he is.

“I-I’m sorry.” I stand before him awkwardly, not sure what to do next. “But I have to go.”

“It’s cause Angel’s in the house, right, pet?” His hurt is evident, but his tone tells me that he’s resigned to the answer as if it’s accepted fact.

“No,” I say emphatically, but I can’t help but think about all the tender moments we recently shared in Sunnydale when the cameras forced us to face each other. I wonder what life would be like if Dawn, Spike, and I were a family. . . if I allowed myself to push past the nightmares and live again.

Unwilling to allow that particular musing too much airtime in my brain, I turn on my heel and leave him behind.

As I exit, I barely catch his reply, “Now why don’t I believe you?”

Because I’ve given you no reason to believe me?

xxxxx

“We need to talk.”

Angel greets me outside Spike’s room, arms crossed and glower plastered on his face. For some reason, Angel’s expression almost makes me giggle.

What the hell is it with the vampires in this hotel? I can’t escape them. I’d almost take the cameras in my house over this. Almost.

And I almost ask what he wants to talk about, but instead, I evade. Boy, I’m getting good at that. Not that I wasn’t already an expert. “No, we don’t. Not unless it’s about the mission.”

Shoulders back even in my pajamas, I breeze past him, aiming for the main staircase that dropped down into the hotel lobby.

Before I can blink, Angel does his super-speedy Superman imitation and ends up at the top of the stairs in front of me. He never did that in Sunnydale. Must be something in the water in L.A.

“Buffy.”

I cross my arms and decide to confront the issue head on. It isn’t like I can evade everyone, and this is Angel’s house after all. “It’s about Spike, right? Well, like I said before, he’s been helping all summer, and he took care of Dawn. . . kept her safe.”

Spike keeps me safe, too, but I can’t tell Angel that.

“It’s more than that. I can. . .” Angel’s expression is one of someone who doesn’t want to spell out what he knows.

Blood flames hot in my cheeks, and my gaze falls to a strip of peeling wallpaper behind Angel. “Oh. I-it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Angel whispers, face hovering dangerously close to mine. “He’s dangerous. He’s evil. He’s got no soul.”

My response is immediate. “And that’s nothing I don’t already know.”

After what Spike alluded about Angelus torturing his victims, I’m seeing Angel in a new light. . . not that Angel is responsible for what Angelus did. Okay, so I can almost picture Spike rolling his eyes at my line of thinking. What had he said?

Even soulless demons can make choices.

I shake my head in a vain effort to erase the confusing thoughts. I take a step around Angel, and his arm goes up in front of me. Anger shoots through me, but am I angry at him or me for letting this situation even come about?

“Knowing the truth doesn’t mean it makes it any safer that you’re. . . with him.” Angel looks as if he’s swallowed a mouthful of holy water.

“No, it doesn’t, but you don’t have a say anymore.” But he does, and I know it. He’ll always be an influence in my life. First loves are like that.

Angel doesn’t even have the decency to seem hurt. Instead, he fires back, “And you don’t have a say in mine.” The blaze dies down almost immediately. “We’ve covered this territory, haven’t we?”

Anger dissipates in the levity of amusement. “Uh huh.” I nod. “Little bit.”

His rich brown eyes crinkle in the corners as the barest hint of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “And you know what I’m going to say no matter whom you date, right?”

“I’m not. . .” No use denying it. I study my interlaced arms for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Right. You’re going to tell me to be careful and that if anything happens to me, you’ll kick his ass.”

“You got it. Except in the case of Spike. He’ll be dust. ‘Course if he isn’t careful, he’ll end up dust before he does anything to hurt you or any one of yours.”

“I have a feeling that if everyone else finds out about me and Sp. . . this, you know, you’ll have to get in line for the dusting part.” I narrow my eyes at Angel. “You’re taking this awfully well.” Too well. Something tells me. . .

“So. Connor,” Angel mentions, trying to sound casual.

Yep. I’m right.

“You have a son. With Darla. How did that happen? Well, I know how it happened but. . .” I try to keep my tone even. Angel’s behaved himself about Spike. . . is letting me make my own decisions no matter how foolish they might be. I’m determined to try in return.

“She and I. . . we. . .”

I suck in a breath. He has hardly said anything and here I am nervous as all hell and unsure if I can hear this. Talk about Buffy having a double standard. “But I thought she was a vampire.”

“She is. . . was. When we. . . Connor was conceived last year when she was a vampire again. When things were. . . kind of like how they are for you since. . .”

“You felt like you were pulled out of Heaven?” It’s the first time I’ve actually said the exact words aloud to Angel. He knew, I think, from things I hinted at last fall, but I was never this blunt.

The pain in his eyes confirms my suspicions, and I can’t help but reach up and caress his cool cheek to let him know how much I understand. I know the lines of his face so well that I can trace them with my heart, but now, for some reason, Angel feels almost foreign to me. Blinking, I draw my hand away even as he turns his face into my palm.

“He’s beautiful.” Angel’s eyes are glazed in confusion and a bit of hurt, so I explain myself, “Connor’s beautiful.”

He stares at me a moment. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

The sound of a throat clearing disrupts the reverie between Angel and me, and my heart jumps in my chest. My eyes fly around to crash into a sea of blue. . . a sea that’s churning with hurt, anger, and envy.

“Sorry to interrupt the cozy little reunion you got going. Just wanted you to know that I was going downstairs.” Spike breaks eye contact with me and gives Angel a pointed look. “Wouldn’t want you to think I snuck out of my room and was wanderin’ about the hotel doing something evil.” He waves both hands in a little gesture to emphasize the “evil” part.

Spike descends the stairs without a backward glance. I search for a hint that he understands what Angel and I are doing together in the hallway but come up with nothing.

And Angel seems miffed that I’m taking such an interest in Spike’s backside.

Damn it. All I’m doing is hurting everyone.

xxxxx

I can’t stop staring at Spike’s scuffed black boots on the desktop.

They’re propped up right next to the computer monitor and on top of a pile of papers, and every once and a while, the top one twitches a little.

He hasn’t looked at me. . . or anyone since Angel and I came downstairs. That’s probably why no one’s asked him to move his feet off the furniture. Or maybe it’s the scowl on his face. That did it for me anyway.

“Buffy, what do you think?”

Oh, crap. I’m daydreaming again. . . about Spike, which is apparently becoming a very bad habit. What’s Wesley talking about? The ex-Watcher is watching me with an expectant look on his stubble-lined face. Wesley isn’t supposed to have stubble. Guess stubble comes with staying up all night doing research.

“About the plan to break Faith out of prison,” he adds.

“Um.” I know they’ve been talking about the spell that needs to be done after Faith is extricated from prison, but now they’ve switched topics on me. When did that happen?

Everyone is staring at me. . . well, except for Angel who’s standing at my elbow and Cordy’s who’s feeding baby Connor a bottle and smiling at him. Spike lifts an eyebrow at me.

“The chain bus thing might work,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

Spike smirks, twirling a pen between his fingers in place of the cigarette Angel won’t let him smoke around the baby. Spike knows I haven’t been listening.

“So, let me get this straight,” Gunn says, leaning over the papers on the desk. “If we go the chain bus route, we’ll take the girls here, dress them up like inmates, shackle their hands and feet, round them up in the bus we’re gonna steal, and drive them up to the prison in broad daylight?”

“Yes, we will,” Cordy singsongs in her baby-appropriate, too happy voice. “And then, while us girls cause a commotion, fighting the guards, Buffy will grab the keys and find Faith, using the handy-dandy blueprints Uncle Wesley found on the internet last night.”

“I like this plan already,” Gunn says with a satisfied grin and a clap-and-rub of his hands. “Can I be one of the guards?”

“Actually,” Wesley interjects, picking up Spike’s feet and pulling out a stack of computer printouts, “they prefer to be called ‘officers.’ And you and I are not going to start any riots.”

“Damn,” Gunn mutters in disappointment as he leans against the doorframe. He and Fred exchange a quick grin.

Wesley seems slightly annoyed by Gunn, but the annoyance disappears as he smoothes the prison blueprints over the desktop. “What we will be doing is using these.” He tosses a set of computer printouts atop the blueprints. “And these fake inmate profiles to get you into the prison.”

“But isn’t the whole goal getting into the prison and then out again?” Anya asks, chewing on a straw leftover from her iced mocha.

Actually, I’m wondering the same thing. I peer at the papers with skepticism.

Emitting a small impatient sigh, Wesley continues, “If you’d let me finish.”

“Sorry, Mr. Grouchy Pants,” Anya grumbles.

“He gets like that when he hasn’t had much sleep,” Fred commiserates with the ex-demon, wrinkling her nose in sympathy. She has rings around her eyes like she hasn’t gotten much sleep either, but she’s obviously in better spirits than Wesley.

Wesley ignores both of them. “And yes, that is the purpose of the fake profiles. We’re going to try and admit Anya, Cordy, and Fred first. Gunn and Buffy will put the admitting officers to sleep. After they’re asleep, I’ll break into the computer system and adjust the security cameras to show a continuous loop of the same empty hallways. They’ll have keys. That’ll give us a chance to get inside.”

Licking a bit of pastry out of the corner of his mouth, Xander half raises his hand. “What’ll I be doing?”

“You’ll be watching out for other officers.”

Xander nods. “Can do.”

Connor emits a tiny belch as Cordy rubs his tiny back.

“So, we’ll get in and out without anyone noticing? How will we get by the other officers on the. . . ?” I’m not sure what to call the cells.

“The pods,” Wesley fills in for me, sweeping aside the fake profiles and pointing at the names of the different branches of the prison. “Faith is on this pod. We get in, get her, and get out in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m guessing the undead members of this little operation won’t be in attendance.” Spike finally lowers his feet to the floor and leans forward with his forearms on his thighs.

“Or the resident singers of the demon variety,” pipes Lorne who has been the silent sardine in the school of planning.

“I really think that’s for the best,” Angel admits, taking Connor from a stretching Cordy.

Angel and Cordy share a quiet moment. . . one that only lasts a few seconds, but jealousy rears its ugly head in my chest. I swallow, remembering my words to him earlier.

I sneak a glance at Spike who’s looking up at me. His eyes are dark with a swirl of emotions. Mirrored hurt and jealousy is present. . .

And something akin to complete understanding.

Spike understands my jealousy of the connection between Angel and Cordy. Then, I remember Angelus and Drusilla, and Spike’s offer of help to end the impending apocalypse so that he might regain his standing with his love.

And now. . . there’s my connection with Angel standing in his way yet again.

My heart aches to see such perception in Spike’s, for the moment, far from soulless eyes. With that recognition, I’m surprised to discover that I long to reach out and touch him. . . to offer him the peace he’s offered me so many times of late.

I blink as the hustle and bustle around us is renewed. . . as Wesley carries on with laying plans for retrieving Faith. The talk’s turned to the stealing of objects, such as buses and prison outfits. Dawn would appreciate the topic.

When my attention re-focuses, Spike is gone, and I’m left alone with the knowledge that something is changing in me.

I frown. I want to go back to Sunnydale. Things were simpler there.

Now where did my positive attitude go?

TBC. . .

Setting Up House

Fifteenth, Learn from the Neighbors

Spike didn’t tell me goodbye.

He didn’t even show up to say good luck on our mission to retrieve Faith, and this has resulted in bitchy Buffy. . . bitchy Buffy with a pit in her stomach.

I can’t put my finger on exactly why I feel this way.

So far, I’ve been successful at channeling my irritability in a productive way. The officers at the women’s penitentiary had no trouble believing I was the transferring inmate the papers claimed I was, and I was grumpy enough to make up for Fred’s meekness and Anya’s tendency to over-act and say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Wesley has rigged the cameras, all the officers in our direct route are unconscious, and Xander, Gunn, and I have successfully navigated the stark, white tangle of hallways.

The heavy, paint-chipped door slides away, revealing the bowels of our destination. Swallowing, I take a tentative step onto the prison pod where, according to Wesley, Faith is located. The stale air is warm and ripe with body odor and sweat.

Hovering behind me, Xander and Gunn poke their heads over the threshold. Gunn follows once he sees that some unseen mystical force hasn’t zapped me and no officers have magically appeared. Giving me a nod, Xander remains behind to watch for approaching officers.

I push aside thoughts of Spike, advancing only after my eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the pod. My boots clump dully on the concrete floor, and I brandish my tazer as I detect the dark silhouettes crowding around the narrow windows slitting the cell doors.

Peering through the slender openings, I try to discern Faith’s recognizable features amongst the crush of unfamiliar faces.

Most of the women show mere curiosity at my appearance, but when they glimpse Gunn, a barrage of whistles, catcalls, curses, and shouts cascade toward us. A tall woman with tattoos covering her arms makes lewd gestures, and I half-jump as another woman lifts her ragged prison shirt to press her bare breasts against the translucent glass. I try not to think about how I’m dressed like them.

Gunn’s tall form appears at my shoulder, and he gives me a side-whisper, “Geez. You think these women never saw a guy before.”

Continuing to move forward, I give him an ironic smile and try not to stare at the women at the windows. “They probably haven’t seen one in a while.”

“Just not one that good looking,” a familiar voice says.

I halt and focus on the cell that I’ve almost passed. Before I can remind myself that I’m supposed to be holding a grudge toward the owner of said voice, the corner of my mouth quirks up. “Faith.”

“Damn, B. Where’d you find this tall hunk of Hershey goodness?” Faith’s eyes rake over Gunn.

“Apparently, she hasn’t seen a guy in a while either,” Gunn says to me as he fiddles with the cell keys.

I cross my arms and regard my dark-haired counterpart as Gunn works to open Faith’s cell. “His name is Gunn.”

Gunn twists the thick key in the lock, and Faith ignores me. “Nice name. There must be a story behind it. You’ll have to tell me ‘bout it sometime.”

Raising an eyebrow, he conveys his distrust, “A gun’s a weapon, you know. In the right hands, it beats Slayer strength any day of the week.”

Faith snorts and plants her hands on her hips as the door springs open. “What’re you guys doing here anyway? Breaking me out of jail early isn’t exactly letting me get what I deserve. I killed a guy, after all.”

I roll my eyes at her. “We’ll explain. . . but not here. Just know that your life is in danger, or we wouldn’t be doing this.”

She regards me evenly. “And I didn’t exactly treat you so well either.”

I’m unsure how to take her admission. “Don’t worry. When we’re sure you’re safe, we’ll be bringing you back here.”

Faith’s eyes flash as she brushes past me, sleeves of her prison uniform neatly rolled up. “Kind of figured that.”

As we’re heading back to the rendezvous point, Faith strides in front of me. “So what’s going on?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” I meet her brown eyes purposefully. “Your. . . our lives are in danger, and we have to keep you safe.”

“Who’re we?”

“The Slayers. You and Buffy,” Xander informs her.

Walking backward, Faith affords Xander a glance. “Oh.” Then, her attention is back on me. “So, obviously, Angel knows what’s going on, or tall, dark and delicious wouldn’t be here with you.”

“Hey,” Gunn interrupts. “Quit talking about me like I’m not here. I don’t know you except for the stories Wes has told me. Never met you. Never want to meet you alone, without a weapon or three.”

“Angel’s told me about you.”

Gunn frowns and grips his tazer. “When?”

Faith raises her hands in annoyance. “When he visits me. He’s been doing it once a month for, like, forever now. Don’t you guys communicate?”

Before Gunn can reply, I push in, “Angel visits you?”

“Yeah. He does. Never talks much about you though. Wonder why that is?” Faith challenges. “Maybe it’s cause he has a life without you now? You do know he has a kid, right?”

“I do. And Faith, I do have a life outside of Angel.”

Faith spins back into place beside me as we approach the elevators. She punches the down button. “So how’s. . . what’s his name. . . ? Roger? Richard?”

“Riley.”

“That’s right. Riley.”

“Bad topic to bring up, Faith.” Considering how you slept with him in my body.

The elevator dings, and the doors glide apart.

By the look on her face, I can tell that Faith surmises that Riley is no longer part of my life. She’s good at that. “Same old B. Still can’t handle an honest discussion about the truth even with someone who is trying to reform.”

“And who’s in prison and who’s not?” Why does she push all of my buttons?

“Yep. Still the same. Probably still trapped by your outdated black-and-white notions about what’s ‘good’ and what’s ‘bad.’ You sure you don’t belong in here with me? You got the outfit and everything.”

My grip on the weapon in my hand tightens, and all the muscles in my body tense as the pent-up anger and frustration at Spike soars through me. Gunn touches my forearm and sidles between Faith and me.

“I think we should. . . not talk until we get out of here in one piece,” he says firmly.

Xander silently colludes by pushing up on Faith’s other side.

Faith grins at Xander, who squirms under her gaze. “Surrounded by boys. I’m already starting to feel at home.”

Gunn jabs a finger at the control panel. “Get used to it. I’m not gonna take my eyes off of you until you’re back behind bars.”

“Says the guy breaking me out of prison.”

With Faith’s attention on Gunn and Xander, I manage to calm my temper; as we ride down the elevator in silence, I wonder. . . is she right? Am I trapped by my own views of what’s right and wrong. . . good and evil?

I’m betting I know what Spike. . . and Lorne would say, and suddenly, the urge to see Spike again, to talk with him overrides all else.

xxxxx

I’m the first one through the doors of the Hyperion Hotel.

No Spike.

I was sure he would be the first person I’d see. No matter how mad or hurt he is with me, he’s always there when I get in from a mission. He wants to know how it went, even if we retreat to our own corners. . . me to my garlic-laden bedroom, him to his crypt. Well, except for lately, we’ve been crashing in the same bed.

“Where is Spike?” I enunciate the three syllables, so there’s no mistake about what I’m asking.

Angel stands in the dimly lit lobby, cradling his sleeping son against his chest. His wide, dark eyes tell me that he’s surprised by my question, but he really shouldn’t be. He stares at me anyway, not saying anything.

The door re-opens behind me, so I stride toward him, never removing my gaze from him.

“What happened to your face?” I wonder aloud, taking note of the gash on his cheek and the bright red mark over his right eye that will probably turn into a bruise. Then, I note that he’s leaning on the doorframe of the main office and favoring his ankle.

The truth hits me.

“I was right!”

“Right about what?” He’s earnest in his confusion.

“I knew you were taking. . .” I’m mindful of the troupe of people filing in behind me, “things way too easily, and it wasn’t just to make sure I was understanding about the Connor thing! It was. . . it was so. . .” I can’t even say what he’s done; I’m that angry with him. I don’t ever recall being this angry with Angel. . . except when he tried to kill himself with the sunrise at Christmastime.

“Taking what too easily?” Xander pipes from behind me.

Oh, crap. Xander doesn’t need to find out about Spike and me right now, so I ignore the query. “You know what I’m talking about,” I say pointedly to Angel, clenching my fists. “Again, I repeat. . . Where. Is. Spike?”

No one speaks until. . .

Faith’s voice rises from the silence as she steps up beside me, “Ohhhh. I think I know what’s up with you now, B. Now it all makes sense. Something’s going on with you and Spike and Angel. If I had to hazard a guess, it probably has something to do with. . . . Hey, is that baby Connor?”

Angel responds with an affirmative.

Saved by the baby. Who knew the little boy was already so powerful?

Faith hurries to Angel’s side, and he smiles softly at her. Not bothering to hide the fact that she’s monitoring Faith’s every move, Cordy meanders up at the same time.

The monopoly I had over the floor evaporates with Faith’s intrusion, and the members of the rescue-Faith team pour around me. As Angel, Cordy, and Faith wander to the circular sofa in the center of the lobby, Fred, Wesley, and Gunn head to the main office area where Lorne stands to greet them.

“Can I just say, ‘Huh?’ Anya, honey? What was Faith talking about? What thing with Buffy, Spike, and Angel?” Xander tails Anya as she leads him toward the staircase.

Anya pauses on the bottom step and faces him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Nothing’s going on with Spike and Angel and Buffy, especially nothing between Spike and Buffy.” She catches the alarm on my face, and I rapidly shake my head.

Before Xander has time to process what she’s said, Anya hurriedly continues, “We don’t have time to worry about them. Right now, I need some rest and relaxation before we start with the spell to help restore the balance between good and evil in the universe that we partly caused by resurrecting Buffy.”

“Huh?” is Xander’s response.

Anya sighs and kisses him on the forehead before pivoting and dragging him up the stairs. “I need sex.”

“Now that’s a need I can fulfill.” Xander punctuates his statement by jabbing his finger in the air. “Lead on.”

“We can play ‘cops and robbers,’” she says, suggestively thrusting her hip out at him.

“Oooo. . . I like already.”

I sigh in relief.

On the landing, Anya gives me a surreptitious wink, which I acknowledge with a terse smile.

The gang in the office doesn’t seem to notice that I’m aiming for them, and Angel’s glad I’ve stopped noticing him. I actually don’t mind that everyone’s distracted with his or her own stuff.

I have one objective: find Spike.

I lean on the reception countertop, and immediately, Lorne glances up at me from the wall where he’s taken to reclining because the desk is overrun by a set of ancient-looking books and scrolls. Wes reads aloud out of one of the books, and Gunn listens intently. With glasses perched on the tip of her nose, Fred takes notes in a wire-bound notebook.

I don’t even have to give breath to my inquiry.

Lorne merely says, “His room.”

I mouth a “Thank you” at him, which he acknowledges with a nod and lift of his hand. I barely catch Fred looking up from her work to give me a brief thumbs-up sign for good luck. She is way too perceptive for her own good. . . either that or I’m way too obvious.

At least, now I know where Spike is.

I pass Angel on the way to the staircase. Touching his arm as Cordy lifts the baby from his arms, I whisper, “We are going to have a talk about this later.”

I don’t believe I’ve ever conveyed that much anger in such a quiet statement.

“Damn, B. I think I’m gonna have to be present for that little conversation,” Faith says without glancing my way.

Faith doesn’t know it yet. No way in hell will I let her be present for my private conversation with Angel.

“No cussing in front of the baby,” Cordy warns.

Angel looks a little panic-stricken. He should be.

xxxxx

Spike’s door is cracked, and light from the lamp beside his bed arcs across the shadows in the hall like a tiny beacon beckoning me into his harbor.

My fingers curl around the door, and I poke my head into the room tentatively. My approach is such a contrast to how I normally barge into his space that it feels a little foreign when I gently call his name.

“Spike?”

“What do you want, Slayer?” comes the growled response.

At my entrance, Spike swings his legs from where he’s been lying on the bed so that his back is to me and the ocean of the bed is between us. Not that I don’t deserve his distance.

“Are you okay?” I step into the room like I’m an intruder, shutting the door with a low click behind me. I mentally note the suitcase open on the bed, my clothes in a neat pile on the nearby dresser top, and his packed into the half-empty cavern.

“No, but I don’t want you in here, so go away.” He sounds so defeated, and my heart aches at the way his shoulders slump.

I climb atop the disheveled bed covers and crawl across the bed to him, balancing my chin on his left shoulder. My knees press into his lower back. “Since when do I ever listen?”

“And now you touch me.” Spike’s words are softer, and he turns his head briefly to peek at me, a flash of blue catching my eye. I note the tears in his wrinkled black T-shirt and the scratches on his arms. Spike’s blood isn’t flowing, but as with Angel, I can tell where bruises will eventually form under his pale skin.

Bringing my arms and legs around his midsection as though I were a monkey, I hold his larger frame against my own, pressing my cheek against his back. “Yeah? I guess I am.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his body slowly relaxes, tense muscles unfurling when I don’t move away.

“I’m sorry. . . again. See? Buffy can apologize when she wants to.”

He laughs, and I enjoy the rumble of mirth in his chest. “More than once, too, eh, pet?”

“Uh huh.” I nod so that he can feel the movement.

Ever mindful of how I’m doing, he asks, “How did it go? From the way you’re acting, I take it that picking up the Faith bint was a rousing success.”

“Fine as it can be where Faith is concerned. Angel seems convinced that she’s changed, but I have my doubts.”

“It bothers you that he trusts her,” Spike observes, taking one of my hands in his.

“After what she pulled when she woke up from her coma, yeah, I don’t trust her, and I think Angel’s a fool for having so much. . . well, faith in Faith.”

Spike’s thumb strokes my palm. “What happened?”

I thought he knew. “You don’t know?”

“Knew that she woke up from her coma and that she had it in for you. Ran across Rupert and Harris when they were out searching for her.” The small laugh returns. “Think I might’ve told them that if I found her first, I’d tell her right where you all were, so she could kill you all.”

I lift my head, but I don’t pull away. I’ve done enough of that. I can still protest though, and I do. “Hey!”

“That was all before. . . I chose. . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

In a sudden motion, he twists and brings me around to sit in his lap. His shoulders aren’t slumped anymore, and his sapphire eyes search my face with an intensity that makes my heart pound. His hands settle around my hips, and my uncertain hands land on his chest.

“Pet, do you honestly believe I would hurt you or yours?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes. Taking in the evident cuts and scrapes on his face and bare arms, I glide unsure fingertips over each wound. With unblinking eyes, he watches me studying him.

He takes my chin in his hand and guides my gaze into his. “You know, love, that I wouldn’t. That’s my choice. . . my conscious choice. As long as you breathe. . . hell, even if you. . . stop again, I’ll abide by my choice.”

I’m not sure what to say. . . I’m not sure I’m ready to completely believe him. Good, bad, soul, no soul. . . how solid are the concepts in my head? Not very. In fact, they’re kind of fuzzy around the edges, and they’re getting fuzzier the more I get to know Spike.

Maybe I need glasses.

I don’t want to confuse him by saying I believe him and by then questioning him further, so I say, “I’m mad at Angel.”

He seems satisfied that I’ve let him say his piece, so he follows my change of subject. “What for, love? For having Connor with Darla?”

“Actually, for hurting you.”

“Oh.” He’s stunned for a second.

My next words snap him out of it, “What happened anyway?”

Spike shrugs. “Was mindin’ my own business when he attacked me.” I’m skeptical, and Spike can tell, so he adds, “Well, maybe I did provoke him a little. Not even sure who threw the first punch. Things got a bit out of hand after that. You could probably tell from the state of the lobby.”

“Um, no. It was spotless.” And it had been. The blank expression on Angel’s face must have been a mask for guilt. If anyone knows anything about managing guilt, it’s Angel.

“Oh. They must’ve cleaned it up then.”

“He knows,” I insert before I realize what I’m saying.

“Knows about what?”

“You and me. Us,” I emphasize.

“Figured he would.” Spike gives me a self-satisfied smirk.

“You jerk!” I lean back and propel myself forward so that we both fall back onto the bed, me over him. He grunts on the impact, and my face comes dangerously close to his. I’m half-tempted to hit him and half-tempted to kiss him. He acts for me, rubbing his nose against mine.

The gesture is so familiar. . . so intimate that I unintentionally balk.

Is this how things are supposed to be with Spike? Is this how I want things to be with Spike?

To distract him from my shifting thoughts and emotions, I shove at the suitcase near his hip. “Were you leaving?”

He pushes on it, too, and keeps his tone casual. “Thought about it.”

“Don’t go. Please.” I’m relieved that my words come out as statements and don’t sound like I’m begging.

“Buffy. . . ,” he whispers as my legs tighten around him.

I cut his speech short by bringing my lips over his and kissing him with all the tenderness I allow myself to muster. He hesitates at my kindness but then responds by kissing me back, lips pressing into mine, sending blood rushing through my veins in my growing excitement. His hands re-find and grip my waist as my hips and legs begin to move of their own accord, and he audibly groans as my lips leave his so that I can catch my breath.

“Pet,” he manages, “you do know where we are?”

Nodding, I slide my fingers into his jeans and tug up on his shirt, my bare fingertips slipping over his naked abdomen. I hold his gaze with my own. “I know what I’m doing.” I strip the bit of clothing over his head and raised arms and then sweep off the top of my prison attire.

“I’m making a conscious decision, Spike.” I wiggle my hips over the growing evidence of his arousal.

He smiles at me, a finger dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “My own little inmate.”

I reflect his happy expression with one of my own and continue my ministrations, showing him just how much I want him there with me. . . even on Angel’s turf.

To my amazement, I find that for the moment, I’m content that I’ve cracked the door on the prison of my beliefs about good and evil and overturned the repercussions of running away from him this morning. I’ve been honest with Spike and myself, and I no longer have a pit in my stomach.

I think I’m going to let myself enjoy things for the next few. . . make that several minutes.

TBC. . .

Thanks so much for all your support and the sweet reviews on the previous chapters! hugs